


Not Exactly Nancy Drew

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Veronica Mars Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is a private investigator, Bellamy is a deputy for the corrupt Sheriff's department, and writing summaries is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Nancy Drew

**Author's Note:**

> I *love* Veronica Mars and if you're into smart, sassy, badass, blonde female protagonists, you might like it too. The show is a lot grittier than my writing style (much like The 100), so you've been warned.

Clarke knows something's up when she finds Lincoln at their usual spot in the dining hall and he isn’t alone.

It’s not that strange, in and of itself. Lincoln was pretty popular at their high school, as the star of their football team. His stature predisposed him to be a menace on the football field even if he hadn’t put in all the extra hours practicing and training, and his kindness and easy charisma off the field only added to his likability. Plus, Clarke can, as his best friend, objectively confirm that he’s hot. She’s isn’t inherently surprised that a pretty girl would want to have lunch with him.

But Clarke herself has a bit of a reputation, one that causes people to give her a wide berth, and Lincoln too, when she’s around. They may be in college now, but there are enough people from her high school around that she can already feel the stares and whispers as she walks across campus. She might be paranoid, but her philosophy is that it’s better to be overly vigilant than to be caught unaware.

“Did we make a friend?” She asks, smiling at the girl as she slides onto the bench across from Lincoln. “That’s so unlike us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lincoln snorts. “ _I’m_ making friends. I don’t see you bringing anything to the table.”

“No new friends, but I might have made a couple of enemies in my Intro to Criminology class,” Clarke says cheerfully.

“It must be a day that ends in a Y,” Lincoln says, dry. “Clarke, meet Octavia. Octavia, this is the person I was telling you about.”

“The detective?” Octavia says, eyeing Clarke with interest. “You don’t look like a super sleuth.”

“I’ve found that if I carry my magnifying glass and fingerprinting kit around with me, I’m a little too conspicuous. How do you know Lincoln?”

“I don’t really. He’s just a good samaritan who saw me putting these up and offered to help.” She slides a printed flyer across the table to Clarke, with a picture of a dog and a reward offered for the pet’s safe return.

“That sounds like Lincoln,” Clarke says absently, reading over the page.

“I told her you might be able to help.”

“That also sounds like Lincoln,” Clarke says, and he flashes her a smile. “I gotta say though, missing dogs aren’t really my area of expertise. I’m not sure what all I can do for you.”

“He didn’t just run away,” Octavia insists. “The gate is heavy enough it won’t just hang open, and he’s tiny enough there’s no way he could have gotten it open himself. I think someone stole him.”

“For the reward money?” Clarke looks down at the fifty-dollar promise dubiously. “Why would they target a college student if money is their endgame?”

“He’s not mine. I’m dog sitting for a rich family up in the hills while they’re on vacation. If they get back and find him gone, they’re going to blame me. And they're not the most reasonable people.” For the first time, she appears kind of distraught, and Clarke is glad to see Lincoln take the opportunity to place one of his huge hands over hers.

“If anyone can track him down, it’s Clarke,” he says, looking beseechingly up at her. Clarke sighs. She’s powerless against that face, and he knows it.

“Let me see what I can do.”

Lincoln grins like he just won a major victory, and Clarke fights a smile of her own. She’d never admit it, but it’s kind of nice that even after all they’ve been through, Lincoln still has such faith in her.

“You’re a marshmallow, Clarke Griffin. Gooey to the core.”

“Don’t spread it around.”

* * *

She brings Octavia with her to the police station to report the crime, hoping that one of the more gullible deputies will be on shift so she can wrangle information out of them about any similar reported dog-snatchings.

When she finds Deputy Blake at the desk, she’s torn between being disappointed and excited. He’s one of the most competent officers on Arkadia’s force, which means he won’t give much away by accident. Any information he gives her, he does so intentionally. But he’s also her favorite officer on Arkadia’s force, and that’s not something to be overlooked.

He’s smart enough to realize how corrupt the current Sheriff is, has enough integrity to keep out of similar practices most of the officers partake in, is still pretty loyal to her dad though his tenure as Sheriff ended abruptly, and in scandal, years ago. Knowing he works for the Sheriff’s department makes her feel like she’s not alone in fighting the good fight.

He also has freckles that make her want to drag him to her car to make out, and she can’t honestly say she’s completely let down that he’s the one on duty.

He grins at her when he sees her come in, but when he catches sight of Octavia trailing her, his expression flickers to confusion.

“O? Clarke? How do you two–”

“We met at school,” Octavia says, leaning on the counter. “Apparently she’s some kind of P.I.”

“That’s true,” Bellamy says slowly, still playing catch-up. Clarke is right there with him. She’s not sure how Octavia knows someone in the Arkadia sheriff's department, but he has a _nickname_ for her. They’re clearly close. If they’re dating, she and Lincoln can mope together over a six-pack and a Bourne movie marathon. That’s probably a normal bonding activity.

“We’re here to report a crime,” Clarke says.

“Oh, so you’re not here to try to sweet-talk me into giving you information?”

“I can multitask,” she assures him, chipper. He smiles ruefully.

“What exactly is the crime you’re here to report?”

“Dog-napping,” Octavia puts in. “You know how I’m watching Moe for the Wallaces? Someone stole him from the yard last night.”

“Hang on,” Clarke interrupts. “The dog’s name is Moe?”

“Short for Monet,” Octavia says. “Pomeranians are always a _little_ prissy, but calling him by his full name makes me feel really pretentious.”

“You wanted to name our first dog Sir Barks-a-lot,” Bellamy puts in. “I’m not sure you have much room to comment on other people’s pet names.”

“Better than Caligula,” Octavia shoots back.

“It wasn’t Caligula, I would never name anyone that. It was Tiberius. I was going for a theme.”

“Yeah, and the theme was ‘I’m a nerd,’” Octavia says, rolling her eyes. “Mom let him pick my name,” she tells Clarke. “Even at five, he picked Octavia. So now we know for sure his nerdiness is nature, not nurture.”

“I wasn’t aware he was a nerd,” she says, smirking at Bellamy. “I was aware, however, that he’s the biggest big brother of all time. You must be the little sister I’ve heard so much about?”

“I must be.”

“That bodes well for Monet, then. I was afraid I’d have to work pretty hard to convince the bonehead behind the desk that this was a legitimate case, but if he’s your brother–”

“You think I’ll be a pushover? You know I’ve spent years building up an immunity to Octavia’s puppy dog eyes, right? I’m probably the least susceptible person here to her tactics.”

“I think you know your sister’s character. I think if she came to you and reported a crime, you would trust that she’s telling you the truth.”

“She’s got you pegged,” Octavia says, gleeful.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy grumbles, but he looks pleased that if there’s anything Clarke knows about his personality, it’s how important Octavia is to him. “What do you need to know?”

He’s able to pull up a list of other dogs reported stolen. There aren’t many, just enough for Clarke to really believe for the first time there might be something nefarious going on. After they leave the police station, she swings by a dog park in the nicer part of town, photographing each and every flyer for missing pets. There are far more than Clarke thinks is normal for a community like Arkadia, and now she's certain something is up.

She and Octavia and Lincoln sprawl out across the tiny living room in the apartment she and her dad share, contacting each and every owner, finding a pattern: if the reward offered was high enough, the owners got their pets back promptly.

“I don’t have five hundred dollars to offer,” Octavia says, more angry than miserable. “The Wallaces do, but they’d never believe Moe was stolen. They’d just try to make me pay to replace him. Maybe even sue me.”

“I’m not sure if they have grounds for a civil suit,” Clarke muses. “But I’m not planning for anyone to pay to get Moe back. We’re just going to see who comes looking for the reward.”

“You think that will work?”

“Clarke may not be good at human interaction, but she knows how delinquents think,” Lincoln says, and Clarke gives him a look. She’s about to say something rude when she hears the clink of keys in the door.

“I appear to be overrun with college students,” says Jake Griffin, setting his briefcase on the counter and shrugging off his coat. He’s got a few more lines around his eyes than he did before the scandal that got him recalled from his position as Sheriff; before he went after Thelonius Jaha, one of the richest men in Arkadia, for the murder of his son; before Clarke’s mom left them during the fallout. He looks weary but happy, and that’s important to Clarke. Maybe she is a marshmallow.

“I made the mistake of offering them food,” she confesses.

“Rookie move.” He smiles, shaking his head. “Lincoln, I know. I don’t know you. Jake Griffin.”

“Octavia Blake,” she introduces herself, shaking his offered hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my brother. Bellamy? He’s–”

“Deputy Blake,” Clarke interrupts.

“Ah, yes. Your brother’s a good man.”

“He’s alright,” Octavia says, fond, and Clarke kicks Lincoln for the moony look on his face.

“Good thing we got paid today, if we’re feeding your friends.”

“The Lang case?”

“Open and shut.”

“Another affair?” Lincoln asks.

“Our bread and butter.” Many of the cases that get passed along to Jake are from wives or husbands suspicious that their spouse is seeing someone else. Clarke’s official position at Jake’s private investigation firm is as his part-time receptionist, but if Jake is busy on a bigger case, she’ll take care the simple ones like cheating spouses. She’s staked out enough seedy motels, made rent off enough of those paychecks, that she often finds it hard to really trust her romantic partners. “Or in this case, I’m thinking burgers.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jake promises.

* * *

When Clarke’s cell rings at five in the morning, she’s a little bit pissed.

“I considered not answering, but then I realized I wouldn’t know who to murder,” she mumbles into the phone, her eyes still sealed shut with sleep.

“Pro tip: don’t threaten felonies until you’ve made sure it’s not law enforcement calling you,” says Bellamy on the other end of the line. He sounds amused, though. She doesn’t think he’d get her in trouble for anything she says before six a.m. Even so, she decides to keep her thought about how much she likes to hear his voice first thing in the morning, to herself.

“Thanks for the life advice. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Up to you. I thought you might want to know, some officers just picked up a couple of Trikru for breaking and entering at the Jaha mansion.” He pauses. “The Commander included.”

Clarke groans and pushes herself into a sitting position.

She has a complicated history with the leader of Arkadia’s local biker gang. They’d attended the same high school, but Clarke only got on Lexa’s radar when she cut Lincoln down from where the Trikru had taped him, naked, to the flagpole on his first day as a transfer student. Clarke had helped a couple of Trikru members walk on a misdemeanor charge in exchange for leaving Lincoln alone. Since then, she and Lexa have done each other a lot of favors.

Clarke would tentatively call her an ally, convenient when she needs some muscle or intimidation or information, and Clarke doesn’t trust the Sheriff’s department (Bellamy excluded) to actually uphold the law, so she feels obligated to drag her ass out of bed and get down to the station to see what’s going on.

“They’re in lockup?” She grunts, hunting around for her pants.

“For another few hours, yeah.”

“Wait.” Clarke pauses in doing up her zipper as his words catch up with her. “The Jaha mansion?”

“Biggest on the hill,” Bellamy snorts.

Clarke tries to shake off the hurt that splinters through her at his derisive tone. He doesn’t know Wells Jaha was her best friend. He doesn’t know she spent the latter part of her high school career obsessively tracking down his murderer. He knows that investigating Thelonius Jaha as a suspect is what sent her dad’s life into a tailspin, but he probably doesn’t realize how personal it all is for her.

Still, she can’t help snapping at him. Emotionally turbulent subjects are a veritable minefield before coffee.

“I know perfectly well which one the Jaha mansion is, thanks.” Then, because she feels a little guilty, “I’ll see you at the station in thirty minutes.”

When she arrives, he’s behind the desk and he already has an extra mug of coffee poured for her. His arms are crossed impressively over his chest and his mouth is drawn in a firm line, which accentuates the scar on his lip. He’s watchful but not accusatory as she takes a big swig, and only when she’s put the mug back down on the desk does he speak.

“I was trying to do you a solid, calling you about Lexa.”

“I know. It’s not about her, it’s just– Wells Jaha was a good person. It’s a sensitive topic for me.”

His face, all hard lines and sharp angles, softens slightly at this.

“I didn’t realize you knew him.”

Clarke sometimes thinks she knew Wells better than she knew herself. She remembers nights spent camping in his backyard, giggling in sleeping bags and spilling their deepest childhood secrets where only the stars might overhear. She remembers summers spent at the ritzy pool in his neighborhood, hands sticky from popsicles and Clarke’s skin pink and tender, as Wells gushed to her about his first middle school girlfriend. She remembers riding in the passenger seat, windows rolled down and music blasting, as he drove them around town simply to celebrate getting his driver’s license after failing the first time. She wonders what secrets of his she might have learned if he’d lived.

“Something like that,” is all she says, and Bellamy nods before standing to lead her back to holding.

Lexa is in one cell, leaning casually against the wall. The other cell holds a Trikru member who looks vaguely familiar to Clarke, with his shaved head and sallow face, but he’s not really the one she’s concerned with.

“B&E? Really?” Clarke says, shaking her head in mock disappointment. Lexa smirks at her and comes to stand closer to the bars.

“It’s cute that you persist in believing that one day I’ll stumble onto the straight and narrow.”

“Narrow, maybe. Straight? Not likely,” Clarke quips. “Besides, I only meant to insinuate that you ought to be better at not getting picked up for something so basic.”

“Sorry I’m not hardcore enough for you.”

“Seriously, though. What were you doing, breaking into the house of the wealthiest man in Arkadia? Did you really think he wouldn’t have a security system?”

“I didn’t break in,” Lexa says, exuding calm. “I was invited.”

“For what, a pre-sunrise tea party?”

“To make a discreet business arrangement. He tried to go back on his terms, and when I refused to leave he called the Sheriff.”

“And because you’re Trikru, and he’s got money, they took Jaha’s word for it,” Clarke sighs. “I’ve heard this song before. Anything I can do to prove your innocence?”

“Come on, Clarke,” Lexa practically purrs, the corners of her mouth curling up in a predatory smile. “You and I both know I’m not that innocent.”

Clarke has to smile, herself. Complicated or not, her history with Lexa wasn’t all bad.

“I meant in this particular matter.”

Lexa studies her.

“He sent us a flash drive with the original contracts on it. I brought it to the meeting, but I managed to plant it somewhere in the house where Jaha won’t find it.”

“And where is that?”

* * *

Clarke gives herself a mental pep-talk as she pulls into the drive of the Jaha mansion. She hasn’t been here since before the funeral, and she’s not particularly thrilled that she’s back.

Despite her misgivings, despite everything within her screaming for her to run, she reaches forward and presses the button on the gate.

“I’m sorry,” the guard’s voice says, tinny through the buzzer, “The Jahas are not receiving visitors at this time. To make an appointment–”

“Kenny? It’s Clarke Griffin.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause.

“Yes, Miss Griffin. Let me check with Mr. Jaha.”

“Take your time,” she says, leaning her head back against the headrest.

Before long, Kenny has buzzed her in and the gates swing wide to let her pass, before closing behind her with an ominous clank. By the time she’s made it to the house, Thelonius Jaha himself is standing on the steps, waiting for her.

“Clarke,” he says, opening his arms wide for a hug. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” she says, only half lying. Sure, her mom got Thelonius in the divorce, and sure, things are awkward if she thinks too long about her dad’s initial suspicions, but Wells’s father had been almost like an uncle she was vaguely fond of, growing up. If she could let go of some of her baggage, it might be nice to see him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I was hoping– I’ve really been missing him, lately.” This, too, is less of a lie than she would like. “I wondered if I could just walk around his rooms? Maybe take one or two things to keep with me at home?” She looks down at her feet awkwardly. “Nothing big. I just– At first, I needed a clean break. It was too hard to be surrounded by memories of him all the time, but now–”

“Now you want a reminder,” Thelonius says gently. “Of course. Please come in. Everything is exactly as he… I didn’t change anything.”

Clarke nods, trying to ignore the very real lump in her throat, and weaves through the house to the suite Wells occupied. Thelonius trails after her, as she knew he probably would, and she wonders if he’s also thinking about all the times Wells chased her down these very halls.

She holds her breath as she enters his room, freshly dusted but very much unlived-in. Her fingertips reach for the spines of the books on his nightstand, tracing them carefully as she commits the titles to memory. His reading glasses sit in their case, neatly atop a cleaning cloth. There’s a snow globe from their school trip to San Francisco, which she remembers helping him pick out, and that’s what breaks her.

She sinks onto the bed, clutching the object in her hand, and Thelonius is reaching for her awkwardly when the house’s intercom system buzzes.

“Pardon me,” Kenny’s disembodied voice says. “But there’s a deputy here with some questions about the incident this morning.”

“I’ll be right back,” Thelonius assures her, making a hasty exit. Clarke counts to five and then crosses the room to Wells’s desk, where one of Lexa’s cronies stashed the flash drive. She slips it into the pocket of her skirt and heads back toward the front door, where Bellamy is standing, studiously taking notes about whatever he’s asked Jaha.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Thelonius asks, surprised.

“I thought I was ready,” Clarke stammers, too aware of Bellamy’s eyes trained on her. “But I can’t– I can’t handle it.”

Thelonius nods and pats the hand she hadn’t realized is still grasping the snow globe like a lifeline.

“I understand. You’re welcome back anytime, Clarke.”

“Thanks,” she says, enduring another awkward side-hug before she edges past Bellamy, climbs into her car, and makes her escape.

She doesn’t get far. She has to pull over to the side of the road not a mile from the mansion, for fear that she’ll veer off the road because she can’t actually see it through her tears. She pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to get herself under control. She usually only lets herself cry in the shower, when she knows her dad won’t overhear, when she can be alone and just let herself lose it.

When her passenger door opens and shuts quietly, Bellamy’s weight and warmth solid in her passenger seat, she unravels even further. As soon as his hand tentatively touches her shoulder, she’s crying in gut-wrenching sobs, like she hasn’t since Wells’s funeral.

He pulls her to his shoulder as best he can across the console. The gear shift is pressing uncomfortably into her side and her pride is wounded because she never, _ever_ lets anyone see her wrecked like this, but his hand is stroking her hair and his chin is resting on the top of her head and it’s nice to be able to depend on someone for once.

After a while, she’s able to calm enough to draw back and wipe at her eyes. He roots around in her glove compartment for napkins, passing them to her without comment.

“Thanks for being the distraction,” she says, when she realizes he’s going to make her speak first.

“Did you get what you needed?”

Clarke nods. She’d told Bellamy the truth about why she needed him to distract Jaha; the truth about what she was looking for in the mansion. Like Clarke, Bellamy doesn’t trust the Sheriff to not mysteriously lose evidence protecting Trikru members, so he agreed to let Clarke hand the drive over to Lexa’s lawyer.

“I’m sorry about Wells,” he says softly. Clarke nods again.

“I am, too.”

* * *

“Okay, but,” Lincoln says, his words slurring only a little. They’re not drunk yet, but they’re getting there. “Have you considered that pirates have swords?”

“Pirates are limited to water,” Raven argues, two beers further in than Lincoln and Clarke, and significantly more sober. “They’re not half as awesome without their ships. Ninjas are clearly superior, because they kick ass regardless of location.”

“I bet ninjas would get seasick,” Clarke says, considering this point very seriously. “Pirates are used to it. So on land, ninjas might win, but–”

“I feel like you’re forgetting about the swords,” Lincoln protests.

“I feel like _you’re_ forgetting about how awesome ninjas are,” Raven shoots back.

Raven is pretty much Clarke’s only other friend, if you don’t count Lexa. Clarke tracked some fake IDs back to her at the end of junior year of high school, but didn’t end up busting her. She simply insisted that Raven screen her clients more carefully. Raven chips in on Clarke’s investigations from time to time, mostly freelance hacking, but also car repairs when Clarke can’t afford them.

Clarke had assigned Lincoln and Octavia to put up the new flyers with the increased reward while she was at the Jaha's, and she knows they spent a significant part of their afternoon together. She’d thought that meant they’d be spending the evening together as well, so she’d enlisted Raven to help her drown her sorrows from the day. She was surprised to find Lincoln waiting for her at Raven’s dorm when she showed up.

“Here’s what I want to know,” Clarke says, gesturing in Lincoln’s direction so he’ll know this is aimed at him. “Why are you having this dumb argument when you could be doing less dumb things with a certain beautiful dog sitter?”

“Is this Deputy Hotbody’s sister?” Raven asks with interest.

Clarke nods. “And the hotness is genetic.”

“Ooh, _Sister_ Hotbody,” Raven cackles.

“That makes her sound like some kind of nun/stripper hybrid.” Lincoln makes a face. “Please call her Octavia.”

“No promises,” Raven grins. “Don’t worry, though. That comment was mostly for Clarke’s mortification.”

“You’re not drunk enough if you’re still using words like mortification,” Clarke says, careful as she sounds the syllables out. “I’ll ask again, why are you here instead of spending time with your nun/stripper?”

“Because my best friend had a crappy day,” Lincoln says easily. “And also because she’s cramming for a test. You forget I’m better with crushes than you are. We’re going running tomorrow afternoon.”

“Better you than me,” Raven mutters. She nudges Clarke. “Tell me about your crappy day.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Clarke slumps against Raven’s bony shoulder, snuggling into her. Lincoln is usually the one she goes to for physical comfort, being bigger than Raven and more apt to show affection, but he’s on the bed and Raven is next to her on the futon and it seems like too monumental a task to get up.

“There’s a surprise. How can I make you feel better if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

“You could do me a favor.”

“Uh-oh,” says Lincoln, as Raven simultaneously says, “Classic.”

They’ve both heard those words enough times to be wary of granting her favors.

“Tell me what’s on this?” Clarke fishes the flash drive from her pocket and holds it out to Raven.

“What do you _expect_ to be on it?” Raven asks, taking it with two fingers, like it’s a bomb about to go off.

“Something shady, as relates to Thelonius Jaha and the Trikru.”

“Of course,” Raven sighs, but she slides the drive in her bag for safekeeping. Raven might be a marshmallow too.

* * *

Clarke’s phone rings the next day, and it’s not a number she recognizes. It turns out to be someone claiming they’ve found her dog, and after gushing her thanks, she sets up a meeting with them at the dog park later in the afternoon and calls Lincoln.

When she shows up, Octavia and Lincoln are already waiting. Octavia looks like she’s ready to fight someone.

“What happens now?” She asks, without so much as a hello for Clarke. “Should I have called my brother? Do we get this scumbag arrested?”

“Slow your roll. We don’t even know if this is the person who stole Monet. Before we do anything, we need to find out what he knows.”

Suddenly there’s the sound of a dog yapping. Clarke turns to see a guy with longish brown hair and a sour expression crossing the lawn toward them with a Pomeranian squirming in his arms.

“Monet,” Octavia cries, rushing to take the dog from the man, who looks glad to be rid of him.

“Where did you find him?” Clarke cuts in, before Octavia can start reaming the guy out.

“On the side of the road,” the guy says automatically. “He wasn’t with anyone, so I picked him up and took him home with me. When I saw your flyer, I figured it had to be this little guy.”

“And you didn’t think to call the number on his collar?”

“He wasn’t wearing a collar.”

Clarke glances at the dog in Octavia’s arms, confirming that it is indeed collarless.

“Which road?”

“Hmm?”

“Which road did you find him on?” Clarke repeats.

“Oh. Uh– The intersection of Willow and Oak.”

“That’s on the other side of town,” Octavia interjects, before Clarke can stop her. “How would he have gotten all the way over there?”

“I don’t know,” the guy says hotly. “But that’s where I found him. Can I just get the reward and go?”

“Of course,” Clarke says, innocent and bright. “We don’t actually have it on us, but if you give me your name and address, I can mail you a check.”

He eyes her suspiciously, but takes a flyer and scribbles a name– John Murphy– and an address on the back of it.

“Thanks again for finding Monet. You should have your check in the next couple of days.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” he mumbles. Lincoln has to practically drag Octavia away, shushing her protests as they go.

“What the hell?” She whispers furiously when they’ve made it to the parking lot. “We’re just letting him go?”

“That’s what we want him to think.”

* * *

“Do you happen to know where the Nikon went?” Jake asks mildly when he calls.

Clarke looks down at the equipment in her lap and smiles. Asking after the camera is code for ‘I know you’re on a stakeout.’

“Well, what do you know? It’s right here in my car.”

“And where might your car be?”

“In the parking lot at Drop Ship,” she says, studying the facade of the dive bar.

“Huh.” There’s a pause. “Could be worse.”

“I’m trailing the suspected dog-napper. If he goes anywhere really dangerous, I’ll let him lose me,” she lies.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“Will you?”

“Touche.” He pauses again. “Be careful, honey.”

“Always am.” She sees someone approaching and feels her stomach sink. “Gotta go, Dad. See you later.”

She hangs up just before the motorcycles’ roaring grows too loud and too near for Jake’s comfort zone, and rolls down her window as the lead rider pulls to a stop.

“You’re out.”

“Of course I am,” Lexa says dismissively, relieving herself of her helmet. “No thanks to you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be locked up for long. I picked up your package. You’ll have it by the court date.”

“Give it to us now and we won’t have any problems,” one of the other bikers cuts in, dismounting his motorcycle and stepping toward her car. She holds up her taser and flashes it at him, effectively cutting off his approach.

“Stay away from me and you won’t wet yourself in front of your friends.” She looks back to Lexa, who is studying her closely. “I don’t have it on me. I’ll get it to you before you go to court.”

“See that you do.”

Clarke doesn’t breathe easy again until they’re out of sight, and when she takes a look around she realizes that Murphy’s car is gone, and she has no idea where it went.

* * *

The next morning she gets up early, tailing Murphy from his home to–

“An animal shelter?”

Her dad picks up on the third ring.

“This had better be a butt-dial from your criminology lecture.”

“I’m giving everyone else a chance to get on my level.”

“I don’t really care if the other students are on your level. I’d rather you completely wreck the curve than skip class.”

“I’ll catch the next one,” she promises, impatient. “If you come help me out real quick, I won’t have to miss my afternoon class too.”

Jake sighs.

“What do you need?”

“Remember the dog-snatcher I’m tailing? He works at a shelter. I’d go in to poke around, but he’s seen my face.”

“He hasn’t seen mine.”

Clarke grins.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, you learned from the best. Get back to campus and text me the address. I’ll let you know when I’ve found something.”

* * *

“You brought me lunch?” Bellamy says, pleased as he straightens in his chair.

“Don’t get too excited. I bought you a sandwich, it’s not like I cooked.”

He’s not at the front desk today, but it hadn’t taken too much work for her to slip past the deputy on duty and back into the pen.

“What did I do to deserve such treatment?”

“You know what you did,” Clarke says softly, and he sobers.

“I didn’t do that for a thank you.”

“Which is why I’m tricking you into accepting my gratitude by presenting it in edible form,” Clarke says, pulling her own sandwich from her purse, alongside a bag of chips.

“Sneaky.”

“I try.”

He swivels back and forth in his chair, smirking down at his lunch.

“Tell me about Lincoln,” he requests, after a beat.

“He’s the best,” Clarke says, with no hesitation.

“I know that.”

“You know that?”

“He’s your closest friend. You wouldn’t give anyone the time of day who was anything less. I was looking for something a little more specific. Likes, dislikes, embarrassing stories.”

“I really thought you’d be more overbearing about your sister’s love life.” Clarke bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

“Believe me,” Bellamy snorts, “I’ve learned my lesson on that one.”

“Sounds like there are some stories there,” she presses, smiling in full now.

“Maybe one or two.”

They trade stories back and forth for a while, Clarke telling him how she used to abuse Lincoln’s position working in the office at their high school whenever she needed access to information she didn’t have, and Bellamy sharing moments from his and Octavia’s childhood. The more he talks about his sister, the more she’s convinced of what she’s always known: that he’s a good guy, through and through.

“Why do you work for Sheriff Pike?” She asks softly, interrupting something he was saying. “You’re one of the good ones, and I’m not saying we don’t need you, and more officers like you, on the force. But–”

He swallows hard and she lets the end of her sentence trail off. He knows what she’s asking.

“I didn’t grow up in the hills. I didn’t even grow up middle class,” he says, voice low, eyes on the floor. “I get that the wealth gap in this town makes it easy for the Sheriff, and others as well, to see people only one way: as rich, or as criminals.”

“That’s not how it is, though.”

“No, it’s not.” Bellamy looks up at her. Brown eyes meet blue and there’s a locking in, an understanding of one another. “I thought maybe if I was on the force, there would be at least one person who knew that.”

“My dad knows that, and look where it got him: divorced, disgraced, and pinching every last penny.”

"You still love him?"

"Of course."

"He still your hero?"

"Of course," she repeats, softer.

“He lost a lot, doing what he thought was right, but there are worse things to lose. He's still got himself. He's still got you. And I bet if you asked him, he'd say the same thing."

* * *

“You are in some deep shit,” Raven says, handing the flash drive back to Clarke.

“That bad?”

“Worse.” She leans back on the futon, and Clarke is really getting tired of people looking at her like she’s the mystery to be solved. “I think now’s as good a time as any to tell you the FBI is trying to recruit me.”

Clarke falters for only a moment.

“Then they’re not half as dumb as I give them credit for. What does that have to do with–”

“I passed the information up the chain to the agent in charge of me.”

“Why?” Clarke gapes. For all she knows, it’ll put her on the Trikru’s hit list, and that’s about the last thing she needs right now.

“Because it’s too big for you to tackle on your own.” Raven’s jaw is set. Clarke knows it’s already done because she’s afraid Clarke would have tried to talk her out of it otherwise. “Agent Sinclair has the bureau’s resources. You have a linebacker and a fancy camera.”

“Don’t underestimate how far that can get me.”

“I would never.” Raven softens a little. “But I worry about you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“And I’m telling you that you don’t have to.” She looks side to side nervously. “Look, everything on there incriminates Jaha more than Trikru. It’s mostly just his side of the deal, and we know that it ended up with Lexa in jail, so there’s no evidence the Trikru weren’t at that meeting to turn him down. They won’t come after you. And Jaha can’t tie you to the contracts. But he needs to be stopped.”

“What did he want them to do?”

“He’s trying to get them to fence an AI for him.”

The Jaha fortune is built on software innovations, so this isn’t entirely surprising for Clarke. But it doesn’t explain why Raven is so freaked out about it.

“Why can’t he just sell it above board?”

“Because it does things it’s not advertised to do. It accesses information illegally and deletes things it shouldn’t. Basically, whoever controls the AI controls the flow of information wherever it’s installed.” Raven shakes her head. “Trust me, it’s best to let the FBI handle it.”

Clarke thinks about how quick Sheriff Pike was to accept Jaha’s side of the breaking and entering story, thinks about how going after Jaha sunk her dad’s career, and knows the Sheriff would never pursue any case against the richest man in Arkadia. Thinks Raven might be right, as much as she hates to admit it.

“I’ll drop it.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, though it goes against every fiber of her being. “I promise.”

* * *

Jake texts Clarke that she should invite her friends for dinner, which means that he found something at the shelter. Lincoln and Raven let themselves in as usual, so when there’s a knock on the door, Clarke knows it’s probably Octavia.

And it is.

But, to her surprise, it’s also Bellamy

“What are you doing here?”

“I invited him,” Octavia says, slipping past Clarke to join Lincoln on the sofa. Clarke is pretty sure he was in cahoots with her on this, but he’s busy introducing Raven, so she can’t be sure.

“I’m here to join the fight against canine abductions,” Bellamy says seriously.

She’s never seen him out of his uniform. She likes the casual look on him, likes that she now knows he has freckles on his (admittedly very nice) forearms, likes that his hair seems to have a mind of its own when freed from the gel he puts in it for work. Likes the twinkle in his eye and the way he’s smiling softly at her. Likes that he doesn’t seem to think less of her just because he saw her broken into pieces.

“Then you’re in the right place,” she says, standing aside so he can enter.

“Oh, good,” says Jake, smiling broadly. “Deputy Blake. I was going to suggest that we give you a call.”

“It's Bellamy, sir. How can I help?”

“How do you feel about staging a daring rescue mission?”

“It’s what he lives for,” Octavia interjects.

“Rescue mission?” Clarke asks, moving to dish out the rice. Bellamy follows in her wake, passing her plates without having to be asked. “Did you find the rest of the missing dogs?”

“Can’t be sure, but they looked an awful lot like the ones in the flyers you sent me photos of. I’m pretty certain if the reward isn’t high enough, they re-sell the dogs.” He reaches into his pocket and tosses something blue to Octavia. “And I found this in the desk drawer.”

“Monet’s?” Lincoln asks.

“I knew that Murphy kid was lying.”

“Actually, I think he has a partner,” Clarke puts in. “His car isn’t nice enough to go unnoticed in that part of town. He’d be too memorable. I think he collects the reward money and houses the stolen pets at the shelter, but I think someone else does the actual stealing.”

“That would be John Mbege,” Bellamy chimes in. “What?" He teases, bumping her elbow gently at her surprised expression. "You think you’re the only one who’s got a knack for detective work? Octavia gave me John Murphy’s name, and I ran it through the system. He and Mbege were picked up together a few months back for drunk and disorderly.”

“This Mbege kid is from the hills?” Raven asks, helping herself to a serving. Bellamy nods, and when he turns away Raven gives Clarke a meaningful eyebrow raise. When Clarke shakes her head and looks away, Lincoln shoots her the same expression.

“Seems like everything fell into place.” Jake is pretty obviously amused as he watches the silent interaction, and while Clarke knows he’s both a P.I. and her father, she’s hoping Bellamy hasn’t also picked up on everyone else’s analysis of the situation.

“Go team,” says Octavia. “When do we bust him?”

“I assume that’s why I’m invited,” Bellamy puts in.

“That, and your pretty face,” Clarke tells him in a low voice, as Jake starts running everyone else through his official ride-along rules. Bellamy blinks at her a couple of times and then a smile spreads, slow. She feels her lips quirk in answer before she wedges herself between Raven and Octavia on the couch. It might push Octavia toward Lincoln, who is taking up far more than his fair share of space, but Clarke is a good friend that way.

The bust itself is slightly anticlimactic, Murphy caving as soon as he sees Bellamy’s badge and Octavia’s glare, but Clarke gets to help a lot of puppies get home and, well, she always enjoys the rush of adrenaline she gets when her sense of justice is satisfied.

Still, she can’t shake that itch beneath her skin, the one that tells her that her job isn’t quite done. She lets it drive her to the Sheriff’s station early the next morning, before her first class.

“You’re becoming quite the truant,” Bellamy says, gratefully accepting the coffee she offers. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Did you come to gloat about Murphy some more?”

“No,” she says simply, coming around to his side of the desk and leaning against it. She’s looking him almost straight in the eye, standing much closer than she normally might.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

He sets the coffee down slowly, folding his hands in his lap.

“A social call?”

“That’s right.”

“No ulterior motives? No bad guys to track down?”

“Just one,” Clarke answers, her soul light with the admission. It’s freeing, in a way, to have handed the Jaha case off to the FBI. Freeing to have had Bellamy witness her at a low point, so she’s not constantly dreading that moment in the back of her mind. Freeing to feel like nothing more than a girl who wants to talk to the boy she likes.

His face falls slightly.

“I knew it was too good to be true. Alright, hit me with it.”

“I came to ask if you were available for dinner. I can’t really afford to go somewhere nice, but I know for a fact that my dad will be out late tonight on a case, and we can order takeout–”

Bellamy cuts her off by reaching for her hand where it’s gripping the edge of his desk and bringing it quickly to his lips. It’s a sweet, chaste gesture, but it feels like a lot for his place of work and she finds herself flushing.

“That sounds just right,” he assures her.

And yeah, it does.

* * *

“Did you bring snacks?”

“I swear,” Clarke groans, repressing a laugh. “You are the worst at stakeouts.”

“We could be waiting a while,” Bellamy says, rooting around on the floor of her car like he’ll find a hidden stash somewhere. “Snacks are always a good idea.”

“Not when you start needing a bathroom break.”

“And I am not the worst at stakeouts. Octavia is way less patient than I am.”

“Also less distracting.”

“I know you want a piece of this,” Bellamy grins, gesturing to himself. “But you’re really going to have to learn to restrain yourself.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Good, because watching infidelity happen in real time isn’t actually a kink for me.”

Clarke peeks through the lens again to see if there has been any change in the motel exterior since she last looked, a few minutes ago.

It’s new, this thing she has with Bellamy. Not only because they haven’t been dating long, but also because she’s not used to feeling so strongly like she can depend upon someone else, not used to being so sure she can rely upon him. Even as they sit, making her livelihood off cheating spouses, she’s so certain of him. It’s a nice feeling.

“Hey.” He turns and raises an eyebrow at her. “Thanks for being my backup.”

It’s not all she wants to tell him, but he seems to get the message. He leans across the console to kiss her, lips barely brushing hers but making her head spin all the same.

“Anytime,” he promises, leaning back to his side of the car and grinning. “I like to see you in action.”

Clarke knows she looks positively giddy, and she might have to admit that no matter how hard she pretends it’s not there, she’s got a soft side underneath her steel exterior.

Well, you know what they say.

Clarke Griffin, she’s a marshmallow.


End file.
